


Coupé

by neveralarch



Series: Attaque Composée [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Fencing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: "Listen," said Thundercracker. "One of the most important things about being a referee is being able to take advice with an open mind. Even when it comes from people you may not like."Bluebottle tries very, very hard to keep an open mind.(Part Three of the Transformers Fencing AU.)





	Coupé

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the [Attaque Composée](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1026729) series, and won't make much sense unless read with the previous fics in mind. It might not make sense anyway! I've tried really hard to keep the fencing understandable, but I've also steered away from blocks of exposition and sometimes these goals conflict. The main thing to remember for this fic is that tournaments often feature several events with different classes of fencers, and the events typically have two stages: a pool round (where you fence several other people in a 'pool' to determine overall rankings) followed by a direct elimination round (where you fence in a head-to-head bracket and losers are eliminated until only one fencer is left).
> 
> Mostly I think you don't need to understand the fencing actions all of the characters are obsessed with, but coincidentally cyrusofchaos on youtube posted a [very relevant video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wXHwWS3444) as I was editing this fic. If you really want to visualize the last bout of the fic, that video will practically walk you how the actions in question _should_ have been called.
> 
> This fic contains mild verbal abuse of a referee, ethical violations by referees, discussion of past career-ending injury, bad drinking decisions, and drunk cuddling. Let me know if you need details. As always, please note that none of the events or characters in this fic are meant to depict events or persons in real life, and the characters' thoughts are not always my own.

"I just really want to thank you for this opportunity." Bluebottle tried to lean engagingly over the bout committee table, but he felt like he was hovering anxiously instead. "It’s so nice of you to bring me out here, and I’m so excited to referee for you."

"Absolutely." Thundercracker shuffled through some datapads, looking distracted. “Glad you're here."

Bluebottle beamed. "And if you ever need me for anything else, I'd be really happy to help out! I think you have my comm info—I mean, I know you have my comm info, that’s how you contacted me in the first place, but if you want me to write it down just in case—"

"Uh-huh. Absolutely."

"It doesn’t look like you have many sabre fencers at this competition," said Bluebottle. "Am I the only sabre ref, or…?"

Thundercracker looked up from his datapads, surveying the growing crowd of mechs fencing the wrong weapons. "Foil and epee are popular in Vos. They’re more traditional. But I think there's still too many sabre fencers for you to handle on your own. I want you to referee, not run yourself ragged.”

Bluebottle nodded, like a diligent referee who was also in tune with his frame’s needs and who wouldn’t forget to drink coolant and get dehydrated and have to go to the medic’s table in the middle of a bout. He’d grown and matured. He was past that now.

“I had a bit of trouble finding another sabre referee,” continued Thundercracker, “but I called in some favors and got you a more experienced partner."

Bluebottle felt his antennae perk. Of course he _wanted_ to be the kind of referee who you could just throw into the melee alone and trust to come out on top. But realistically, he'd rather work with someone he could trust to have his back. Oh, like in a real melee! Someone who could parry the coaches' thrusts and still tell Bluebottle when he was making the wrong call.

"Are they here?" asked Bluebottle. "Can I introduce myself? I didn't see anyone when I came in. I mean, there's Ultra Magnus, but I kind of thought he was more of a foil mech?"

Thundercracker set his datapads to one side. If Bluebottle hadn't known better, he'd have thought Thundercracker looked nervous. No, not nervous—uneasy? Uncertain? Thundercracker never looked uncertain either. That was Bluebottle's dream, to look as solid and sure when he was making a call as Thundercracker did all the time.

"Listen," said Thundercracker. "One of the most important things about being a referee is being able to take advice with an open mind. Even when it comes from people you may not like."

"Absolutely," said Bluebottle. "I totally get that."

"So I want you to work hard to get the best possible experience from this," said Thundercracker. "Even though it might not be your ideal pairing."

"For sure," said Bluebottle, but his plating shivered. Thundercracker’s uneasiness was catching. Bluebottle felt like something awful was about to happen, even though that was sill. How bad could it be?

"Hey, Thundercracker," said Starscream, right behind Bluebottle’s helm. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was terrible, completely unavoidable. This is Bluestreak, right?."

"No," snapped Bluebottle, forcing himself not to look around. Ugh, why was Starscream here? Vos was half a planet away from Metroplex. He wouldn’t have any fencers to coach.

“Bluebottle,” corrected Thundercracker. “And you know I provide breakfast. You didn't have to stop anywhere."

"I didn't stop," said Starscream. "I came straight from the hotel."

"You have rust powder all over your face," said Thundercracker. "That stuff's awful for your tanks."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Starscream, and Bluebottle finally allowed himself to glance back. 

Starscream was rubbing at his mouth, wiping away big streaks of rust. Despite the mess, he looked a lot better than the last time Bluebottle had seen him. His plating was freshly waxed and polished, and he'd clearly touched up the paint around his optics and on tips of his talons and wings. Bluebottle had never seen a coach looking so sharp. Usually this level of shine was reserved for the more finicky officials, the ones who treated refereeing like an opportunity to show off in front of a captive audience.

"Anyway, here's your badge," said Thundercracker, retrieving a lanyard and ID chit from the pile.

Oh no.

"I don't need a badge," said Starscream. "Everyone knows who I am."

No, no, no.

"Right," said Thundercracker. "Here's your badge. Otherwise you're going to have thirty mechs trying to chase you out of the referee corral."

Bluebottle leaned over the bout committee table. "Thundercracker," he whispered. "Don't do this to me."

"I'm sure this will be a great experience," said Thundercracker, looking Bluebottle dead in the optics. Bluebottle couldn't believe his idol would lie to him like that.

\---

Bluebottle had been _looking forward_ to this tournament. Sure, he'd done a few national tournaments. Even refereed the upper division! Pretty high-level stuff. But it was a stretch for him, and he knew that the only reason he was even invited was because they needed better referees in Kaon. Thundercracker was pushing him because Bluebottle happened to be the best mech of a very, very limited pool.

Refereeing a regional event like this one was a unique opportunity for Bluebottle to get _comfortable_. An opportunity to referee at a level where he could really excel instead of struggling to keep up. Thundercracker had even said so when he hired Bluebottle. A chance to be more confident, he'd said. A chance to improve his hand signals, even, although Bluebottle didn't think those were the most important things he could work on.

The tournament was still a unique opportunity, probably. An opportunity to get slagged by a former planetary champion. Bluebottle had seen the look in Starscream’s eyes. That look practically shouted ‘I still harbor a grudge against you for calling touches against my favorite fencer, and I’ve just been waiting for a chance to humiliate you in public.’

“Did you hear anything I just said?” asked Starscream.

“Yes!” squeaked Bluebottle, and then realized that lying to _Starscream_ was like putting his head in a pneuma-lion’s mouth. “No. Sorry!”

“We’ll trade off every five bouts,” said Starscream, slowly, optics narrowed. He waved their datapad with the information on the pool they were sharing in Bluebottle’s face. “Do you want to start? Or should I start?”

“You can start.” Bluebottle managed to collect himself and give Starscream a small smile. He was going to make the best of this experience, just like Thundercracker said. If he was just calm and courteous, he was sure Starscream would respond in kind.

"You have to keep score," said Starscream. "You can't expect me to do everything myself."

"I know how to split a pool," snapped Bluebottle, snatching the datapad out of Starscream's shiny hands and immediately forgetting any resolution he'd made about courtesy. 

Starscream gave Bluebottle an arch look. "Good. Then you can check everyone in."

Starscream commandeered a chair while Bluebottle checked the inspection marks on the competitors' equipment. There were only seven fencers for lower-division sabre. Thundercracker hadn't been kidding when he'd said foil and epee were more popular in Vos. Bluebottle glanced over at the ten strips that had been assigned to upper-division youth epee. Then he glanced back at Starscream, who was staring blankly into space while he fiddled with the ID chit he’d reluctantly hung around his neck.

"They're all here," said Bluebottle, overloud, and felt grimly satisfied when Starscream startled and glared at him. But Starscream didn’t say anything, just stood up and waved Bluebottle to take a seat.

"Fencing now, one and four," announced Bluebottle, calling the fencers’ assigned numbers as he took a seat. "Two and five on deck."

Setting everything else about Starscream aside, it was actually pretty helpful watching him referee. Bluebottle had expected him to grandstand and get in arguments with the fencers. But Starscream’s voice was firm without being harsh, and his calls were clear without being condescending. He made very tight calls whenever the fencers met in the middle. Bluebottle thought he would have called half of them simultaneous, if he’d been the one standing at the strip, but every time he could see why Starscream hadn't. One fencer hesitating, just a little, or the other fencer wavering between a parry and an attack.

"Come on, that's simultaneous," said a seeker coach Bluebottle didn't recognize.

"Preparation," said Starscream. "Attack left. Fencers on guard."

"Where's the preparation?" said the coach.

"On the right," said Starscream, not looking away from the fencers. " _On guard_."

The opposing coach chuckled, and unfortunately Bluebottle did recognize him. Sideswipe wasn't Bluebottle's biggest fan. Okay, Sideswipe probably didn’t know who Bluebottle _was_ , but Sideswipe had definitely yelled at him a half-dozen times. At least Sideswipe could recognize a good call when he saw it.

Which was probably why he yelled at Bluebottle so much. No, don’t think about it like that. Bluebottle tried to recall what Thundercracker had told him the last time Bluebottle had had a panic—an _allergy_ attack at a tournament. You’re here to learn. You don’t have to be perfect. You have to make mistakes before you can correct them.

There was another touch, but Starscream called this one simultaneous. Bluebottle thought he could see the difference between the touches. The fencer on the left was making the same attack, but the fencer on the right had smoothed his hand out this time so he wasn’t making that awkward preparation any more.

"Don’t change anything," Sideswipe told his fencer, a blocky construction-frame with a retro Autobot brand on her shoulder. She wasn't as fast as her opponent, but her attacks were much nicer even when her opponent wasn’t preparing. "Attack, attack, attack. We know what Screamer's gonna call, don't we?"

The construction ‘bot tipped her helm at Sideswipe, and when Starscream called 'fence' she executed another perfect attack while her opponent waffled between attacking and parrying. Starscream called it for the construction ‘bot, obviously, the seeker coach went ballistic, and Bluebottle called the fencers for the next bout. 

"Hey, Screamer." Sideswipe reached a hand over the barrier separating the audience from the strip. "What are you doing out of Metroplex?"

Starscream looked at Sideswipe's hand a beat too long before shaking it. "Don't call me that. Where's Optimus?"

"Aw, you think this rinky dink tournament merits the Prime?" Sideswipe grinned. "It barely merits you. Nice name tag, by the way.”

Starscream touched the ID chit, then smirked. “Thundercracker only wants the best.”

“Can’t always get what we want, can we?” Sideswipe chuckled. “I’m kidding, you know I’m kidding. You look good! Better than last time, anyway."

Bluebottle shrank a little in his chair as Starscream glared over his helm.

"It's all relative," said Starscream. "I'm sure I'm doing worse than you, but at least I’m better off than Sunstreaker."

Sideswipe's grin froze, and he eased a step back from the barrier, like he was trying to keep himself from jumping over. "You should go visit my favorite brother sometime," he said, all false cheer. "He could help you with your detailing. Your talons don't _quite_ match your hands, do they?"

Starscream actually snarled, and even if Bluebottle didn't really want to get in the middle of this, they were supposed to be professionals. "Uh, Starscream?"

"I'll show you what doesn't match—"

"Starscream, the fencers are ready."

Starscream turned, any expression wiped from his face. "On guard," he intoned, and the fencers raised their sabres. Sideswipe glared at the back of Starscream’s helm, but he didn’t do anything else. Just folded his arms and tried to burn through Starscream’s processor case with his optics. Bluebottle was really glad interrupting them had worked. He didn’t have much of a back-up plan. Smack them with the datapad? He really would get slagged.

But there weren’t any more incidents, and by the time it was Bluebottle's turn to referee he had a pretty good idea of how the pool was going to go. Most of the fencers were as messy as you'd expect from the lowest division, and Sideswipe's fencer was easily the best of them. Bluebottle just had to try and follow the ugly fencing, do his best not to make up actions where there was only flailing, and reward the occasional attempt at actually fencing. Sideswipe was probably going to yell, and the seeker coach was definitely going to yell, but there was a flimsy metal barrier between them and Bluebottle so it would be fine.

The first bout went well, which emboldened Bluebottle enough to make a tight attack in preparation call against Sideswipe's fencer in the second bout.

"You have got to be kidding me," said Sideswipe. "Screamer, where did you find this kid?"

"It's the right call.” Starscream leaned back in his chair, looking bored. "Bluestreak, keep going."

Bluebottle wanted to grab _Screamer_ by the shoulders and shake him until he remembered Bluebottle’s designation, but that would be counterproductive. Especially when Starscream was actually supporting him.

“Keep going,” repeated Starscream, and Bluebottle said "on guard."

The next touch obviously belonged to Sideswipe's fencer, and the next, but the one after that was just on the edge of attack into preparation and Bluebottle wasn't sure so he called it simultaneous.

"It's not simultaneous," groaned Sideswipe.

"It could be simultaneous," said Starscream.

"What do you mean, could be?"

"It's simultaneous if the referee calls it simultaneous," said Starscream, which probably meant that _he_ would have called it attack in prep, but it made Bluebottle feel better anyway. Thundercracker kept telling him that he had to decide for himself what an attack was and what simultaneous was, and that if he could call it consistently then it was the fencers' job to adjust to him instead of wasting time arguing. 

Sideswipe still looked mad, but at least his fencer seemed to get it, because on the next attack she really pushed her arm to get it out first, and of course Bluebottle had to give it to her when the other fencer was just stumbling around with his hand practically behind his head.

"Good call," said Sideswipe, "but it's the same fragging action."

"It's really not," said Starscream. "Nice work, Bluestreak. Keep it up."

Bluebottle felt himself flush, and he hoped it didn't show.

"Fencing now, five and one," called Starscream, and then looked up at Bluebottle. "Try not to make so many faces while you're refereeing."

"Yeah." Sideswipe leaned over the barrier. "You look like an astrofish."

Starscream flicked his talons against Sideswipe’s windshield. "Back off, I'm trying to mentor here."

" _You're_ supposed to be a _mentor_?" said Sideswipe, and Bluebottle firmly turned toward the strip, focusing on keeping his face completely still. He wished he could disable some of his expression servos, but that would probably look even worse than an astrofish.

The seeker coach argued with Bluebottle about a couple attacks in the next bout, but Bluebottle felt way more confident in asserting himself over that mech than he had about disagreeing with Sideswipe. Starscream didn't jump in at all, just sat with his arms crossed and his painted talons tapping out a lazy beat on his ID chit. The rest of the bouts were easy, and then Bluebottle got to sit down and clean up the mess that Starscream had made of the pool sheet. Starscream had some weird way of recording bouts which Bluebottle hadn't even known you could do in the scoring program, and which bout committee was definitely going to complain about if Bluebottle even thought about transmitting it that way.

By the time Bluebottle finished correcting it, Starscream was on his third bout and sneering as the seeker coach tried to argue the difference between a parry and a malparry.

"If the initial attack lands, then the parry didn’t work," said Starscream. "That’s why it’s _malparry_ instead of _parry_. Do you need me to go over this again, Acid Storm?"

"I didn’t need it the first time," said (apparently) Acid Storm. "It was an ugly parry, but it was still blocked the attack. You can't just give the touch to the prettier action."

"Oh, like I've ever cared about pretty actions." Starscream turned back to the bout. "On guard."

Bluebottle got the last six bouts, which were either foregone conclusions or desperate battles to gain or maintain a position. The first couple bouts were okay, even though Acid Storm kept yelling, and Sideswipe really got on Bluebottle's case about a parry-riposte call that Bluebottle was sure he was right about, and which Starscream seemed happy to back him on. The next bout was really messy, but neither fencer had a coach with them, or seemed to have any idea what the call should be, or what they were doing in the first place, so Bluebottle figured it was okay if he accidentally flipped a call or threw something out when he wasn’t sure. 

The fourth bout was Sideswipe's fencer against one of the ugly fencers she should have been able to easily beat, but for some reason his attacks seemed to confuse her. She kept trying to pull distance, and then she’d get caught in the wrist by just the tip of her opponent’s blade. Bluebottle had to stop himself from giving one or the other of the fencers a point he wasn’t sure about just to get out of the bout. He always hated it when a good fencer was doing poorly, because he always felt like maybe his refereeing was the problem, even though it was probably the fencer, or the coach, or just a bad day—

It was four to four before Bluebottle knew it, and Sideswipe was hanging over the barrier, screaming for his fencer to just fragging make an attack. Both fencers started forward, and at the last moment, maybe too late, the construction ‘bot swept her arm up, and a scoring light came on, and there was the clash of blades against blades, and the ‘bot riposted.

Ohh, Bluebottle was going to have to call this malparry.

"Attack left," said Bluebottle, trying his best not to look like an astrofish.

"What?" said Sideswipe. "What? Did you not hear the blade contact? Did you not hear the ringing, loud blade contact? What would you call that?"

"Malparry," said Bluebottle, not looking back.

"Well now you're just making things up," said Sideswipe, and Starscream reached across the barrier to hook his talons into Sideswipe's torso vents and yank him down.

"Do you want to repeat that?" asked Starscream.

Sideswipe seemed to be deciding that no, he didn't want to repeat anything while Starscream had his hands halfway into his internals, when the construction ‘bot stomped over from the strip, sabre still in hand.

"Six touches!" she said. "Six touches you called wrong, just in that bout, and that's the third bout you've screwed up! How can you be a referee when you make so many mistakes?"

Starscream stood up, dragging Sideswipe forward _into_ the barrier, and caught the ‘bot by the shoulder. "I need you to calm down."

"You need _me_ to calm down? I lost that bout because of that scrap call—"

"It's not about the call," said Starscream, which, oh no, meant Bluebottle had been _wrong_ , "it's about respect. If you can't be respectful toward your referee, I don't see any reason why you should expect us to—"

"I didn't come here to play referee roulette," said the ‘bot, and Sideswipe said "Come _on_ Screamer, we're paying for good referees," and Bluebottle felt awful but he was also slowly backing away as Starscream’s wings flared.

"Where do you think good referees come from?" snarled Starscream. "Do you think they just step off the assembly line, fully formed? Mechs have to learn, and they have to learn by doing. Do you want to referee this?"

"That's not my job," said Sideswipe.

"Maybe we should get a computer to do the refereeing," said Starscream. "Maybe we'll see if the government can spare Teletraan One, and we can teach it the difference between attack and counterattack. Is that what you want?"

"That actually sounds kind of cool," muttered the ‘bot.

Starscream bared his teeth. "I've had it about up to here with entitled fencers and their fragging coaches—"

Bluebottle picked up the datapad from where Starscream had dropped it and called the next bout. He refereed the last two bouts while Starscream and Sideswipe were still arguing, and then collected signatures from everyone to finish the pool. By then Starscream had finally let go of Sideswipe’s vents, and the construction ‘bot only glared as she scribbled something that didn't really resemble her designation on the datapad.

Starscream snatched the datapad from her hands when she was done, and marched up to the referee corral with Bluebottle propelled in front of him.

“Don’t forget to transmit the results,” said Bluebottle.

“I already did that,” said Starscream, and then squinted at the datapad, obviously figuring out how to transmit the results, before dropping it in a chair where it would probably get lost. Bluebottle tried to pick it up, but Starscream was pushing him toward the referee corral again and Bluebottle didn’t really want to find out what would happen if he resisted. 

"Sit," Starscream commanded, pointing at an empty table. "Do you want coolant? I'm getting coolant."

Bluebottle shook his head, but it didn't seem to matter. Starscream still came back with two cubes of coolant.

"Okay." Starscream sat down—not next to Bluebottle, but about an arm’s length away. "Three things."

"That malparry call was wrong," said Bluebottle.

"That's not one of the things," said Starscream.

"Yeah, but it was wrong."

"Drink your coolant,” said Starscream, and glared at Bluebottle until he did. “Here’s the first thing. Maybe the most important thing. Sometimes you make the wrong call. Sometimes you think the attack hit before the parry, even though it hit the sabre guard first and only whipped around afterward, and it was really a parry-riposte. But who's more at fault? Is it you for making the wrong call? Or is it the fencer for putting you in that position by making a weak parry?"

"I'm supposed to be right." Bluebottle could feel his antennae twitching anxiously, and he wished he could just reach up and hold them still. "They're paying me to be right. They’re not paying the fencer to win."

"But the coach is expecting the fencer to make a good action," said Starscream. "And it's impossible for you to be right all the time."

"You're right every time," said Bluebottle, because you had to be honest about these things. Why had he ever argued with Starscream about calls?

"Of course _I_ am," said Starscream, and then looked conflicted. He leaned in close and cleared his voicebox, face contorting with something resembling pain. "I'm not. Not always."

Bluebottle squinted at him. This felt like a trick.

"Don't tell anyone." Starscream leaned back, one hand fidgeting with his ID chit. "That's the first thing. If even I'm not perfect, you should know that it's foolish to aspire to it."

Bluebottle continued to stare. Was Starscream—was Starscream actually mentoring? Bluebottle had thought that was a joke.

"Thing two." Starscream snapped his fingers in front of Bluebottle's optics. "Are you listening? Thing two is that you can't let a coach get personal. If they escalate from questioning your calls to attacking you, you have to give them a penalty card."

"It wasn't really that big a deal," said Bluebottle.

"He accused you of cheating," said Starscream.

"He just didn't like the call—"

"He said you were _making things up_ ," said Starscream. "That's over the line. That's unacceptable. You can't be making good calls when you're trying to manage the coaches and manage the fencers and—"

"Wait, slow down." Bluebottle’s antennae stilled in disbelief. "You want me to card coaches when they get personal?"

Starscream gave him a look like ‘did you just start listening now?’ "It's a distraction." 

"Like, just to give an example, like when they ask if I wandered in off the street and got shoved in front of a strip?" asked Bluebottle.

"Absolutely," said Starscream, without a hint of either irony or recognition.

Bluebottle swallowed down his outrage, because that was counterproductive. "You didn't card Sideswipe."

"I don't get distracted." Starscream's optics flickered in something that was either a wink or a glitch. "Let's move on to the last point. Now, I know that Acid Storm hardly knows anything about anything, but he was right about some of your attack calls. Oh, and fourth point, your hand signals are terrible."

Bluebottle’s processor spun. "What?"

"Hasn’t Thundercracker talked to you about this already?” Starscream waved his arms in an apparent imitation of Bluebottle’s signals. Elbows tucked close to his hips, hands making tiny, imprecise gestures. “You look like a Dinobot.” 

“I do not!” said Bluebottle, and then finally gave into temptation and grabbed his antennae with both hands, because he did. He absolutely did. Oh, Primus. "I can’t fix everything at once. Which one of these would you say is most important?" 

"Hand signals,” said Starscream. “Well, those are easiest to fix. Attacks are most important. You have to see who commits to attacking first, even if it’s a slow attack, not just who’s getting their hand out—“ 

Bluebottle lowered his hands a little, so he could see Starscream’s face. Starscream wasn’t looking at him pityingly or with malice. He looked calculating, like he was honestly trying to figure out how to make Bluebottle better in the shortest period of time.

“What about not looking like an astrofish?” asked Bluebottle.

“You don’t really look like an astrofish,” said Starscream. “More like a pidgeonoid. It’s the wide eyes, and the way your head bobs—yes, like that. A pidgeonoid Dinobot.” 

Bluebottle reached for his antennae again and groaned. “I hate refereeing.”

“There, there.” Starscream patted him gingerly on the back. “Don’t worry, so does everyone else.”

\---

The direct elimination round was fine. With an incomplete table of eight, there were only seven bouts from beginning to end. Starscream just left the DE datapad on the table between two strips and let Bluebottle pick his own bouts to referee. Bluebottle carefully avoided refereeing Sideswipe's fencer. Not because he wasn't _brave_ enough, it was just—Thundercracker talked a lot about putting yourself in a position to succeed, and Bluebottle was pretty sure there was no way dealing with Sideswipe right now would end in success.

Bluebottle got to referee one of the semi-finals, and then Starscream refereed the final but Bluebottle got to operate the camera Thundercracker had set up on the finals strip for video replay. Sideswipe's fencer won, of course. Bluebottle expected to see her in the upper division soon. She'd probably get crushed, at least at first, but getting beat up by the best was its own kind of victory.

Starscream's refereeing was just as good as Bluebottle had come to expect. _And_ Starscream went over the video with him afterward, pointing out the important differences in the fencers' attacks, and answering Bluebottle's questions.

The more they talked, the more Bluebottle thought he had Starscream figured out. It wasn’t that Starscream was a nicer mech when he refereed, or that he was making any particular effort to be nice to Bluebottle. It was that he watched out for people who were on his side. Starscream thought about fencing as a game of winners and losers—not just in a bout, but all the way through the sport. Since Bluebottle was part of Starscream's team today, of course Starscream was going to defend him against Sideswipe and give him lots of frustrating but invaluable advice about how he should call attacks and what his hand signals should look like.

Bluebottle wasn't sure what he'd have to do to get Starscream on his side all the time. Join Metroplex, probably.

Or maybe this was what Thundercracker meant when he said Bluebottle should develop relationships with coaches. Maybe Starscream would still respect him at the next tournament, and not start shrieking at his back as soon as Bluebottle made a call.

Starscream didn't chase Bluebottle away when he sat across from Starscream at lunch, so things were off to a great start. But Starscream scowled at Ultra Magnus when he gingerly sat on one of the too-small chairs to drink his cube. Apparently the Starscream Referee Team didn’t include foil refs. 

Ultra Magnus nodded at Starscream. "It's good to see you refereeing again. It's been a while, hasn't it? The last time must have been ages ago. Back when the Decepticons still had a club."

Starscream shrugged and fidgeted with his ID chit, looking down at it like he’d just realized he was an official.

"No, I’m wrong. You were one of the Cybertronian referees at the Galactic Championships, weren't you? Ten, maybe fifteen stellar cycles back?"

"Fourteen," muttered Starscream, not looking up.

"I suppose refereeing doesn't suit you." Ultra Magnus sipped from his cube. "Not many opportunities for shouting."

Starscream snorted. "You'd be surprised."

"How so?" asked Ultra Magnus.

Bluebottle didn't think Starscream was going to bring up the argument with Sideswipe, so he wasn't surprised when Starscream's optics flickered and he said, "we were at the same tournaments, back in the day. Didn't you hear the referees shouting at _me_ whenever I went to bout committee?"

"Oh, well, when you challenged old Tyrest." Ultra Magnus sighed, almost wistfully. "Bluebottle, you're too young to remember Tyrest, aren't you?"

"I mean, I know who he is." Bluebottle laughed awkwardly. Everyone had a story about Tyrest, and he'd heard most of Ultra Magnus' stories twice.

"But you don't really know what he was like," said Ultra Magnus. "Tyrest was regulations commissioner for years and years, knew the rules better than anyone."

"Only because he kept changing them," said Starscream.

Ultra Magnus ignored him. "I remember once a coach came to complain about a call, and after about half a groon of useless argument, Tyrest finally threw him out of the competition."

Bluebottle could have mouthed the punchline along with Ultra Magnus. He'd heard _this_ story at least a dozen times.

"Out of the window, in fact." Ultra Magnus allowed the ghost of a smile to grace his face. "It was fortunate we were only on the second floor. Of course, you'd never get away with that now. Someone would call the enforcers, and Tyrest would have been banned for a season or two."

"Primus, if only," said Starscream. "That coach was Shockwave, by the way. He had to get half his plating replaced."

"Oh, but Shockwave," Ultra Magnus waved a hand, "Shockwave wasn't much better."

"None of them were." Starscream sat back, pushing away his half-empty cube of energon. "Shockwave's fencers were all on boosters, Tyrest lied about anything if it would win his argument, and Prowl's fencers lost bouts strategically in pools to give themselves an advantage in DEs. And now people like you are nostalgic for the good old days."

"I wouldn’t call it nostalgia," said Ultra Magnus. "But you have to admit, there was something stirring about Tyrest declaiming from on high."

"It stirred something," said Starscream flicked his ID chit over his shoulder. “My tank in particular. I always felt nauseous when I looked at Tyrest.”

Starscream and Ultra Magnus looked each other, neither bothering to hide their dislike. Bluebottle focused on being quiet. Sipping his cube, checking the registration for the next event on his HUD. Sideswipe didn’t have any more fencers today, but he had almost a dozen in the big upper division event tomorrow. Something to look forward to.

"I imagine you have worse memories of that time than I do," said Ultra Magnus.

Starscream's wings flicked, irritably. "I certainly didn't see _you_ arguing with Tyrest."

"I meant," said Ultra Magnus, "since you worked so closely with Megatron."

Starscream’s talons dug into the table, leaving streaks of paint.

"Hey," said Bluebottle, brightly. "Ultra Magnus, I wondered if you could explain covering target to me? There just isn't any covering in sabre, so I have a real tough time calling it when I have to referee foil."

Ultra Magnus turned to Bluebottle, attention immediately caught by the opportunity to wax pedantic over a rule. "The most important thing to remember is that covering is a function of the fencers' distance and position, and not necessarily the result of intentionally blocking target against a specific attack."

Starscream didn't look especially grateful for the interruption, but he sat quietly through Ultra Magnus' exhaustive explanation, staring at his neglected cube until it was time for them to go back to work.

\---

"How do you feel about refereeing foil?" asked Thundercracker, looking at Starscream pleadingly.

"If I have to work with Ultra Magnus, I'm going to rip out my own audials," said Starscream. "No, I’m sorry, I’ll rip out _his_ audials. What's the problem, you only have three fencers in the next sabre event?"

"I thought there were thirteen checked in," said Bluebottle. 

"Then that's easy," said Starscream. "Bluestreak can take one pool, and I'll have the other."

"Bluebottle,” said Thundercracker. “But that won’t work. You have conflicts with two of the fencers.”

"What conflicts?" Starscream tried to peer at the pool datapads that Thundercracker was refusing to hand out. "I don't have any conflicts in Vos."

"One of your fencers is here," said Thundercracker.

"Where?" Starscream looked back over his shoulder. "I don't see anyone."

"The one wearing the Metroplex brand on her helm." Thundercracker pointed. "The short one. Look _down_ , Starscream, this is youth division."

Starscream's optics narrowed. "She does look familiar."

"Your club's not that big, Starscream." Thundercracker smiled. “You knew every Decepticon by name and planetary ranking, didn’t you?”

"Wheeljack deals with the sparklings." Starscream turned back to Thundercracker with a shrug. "Ideally, I wouldn't even see them."

"You still can't referee her," said Thundercracker.

"Then give me the other pool."

"That one has a Metalhawk fencer," said Thundercracker.

"So?"

Thundercracker stared at him, apparently unimpressed by this line of reasoning.

"Metalhawk and I are having a disagreement," said Starscream. "That doesn’t mean I have a conflict with every NAIL on the planet."

Thundercracker looked pained. "They don't like being called NAILs. It's NFC now."

"Whatever," said Starscream. "Neutral Fencing Club is a ridiculous name."

"Why don’t you just let Bluebottle handle the bigger pool, and I’ll give the smaller one to—"

"Bluebottle thinks I'm a great referee," said Starscream, smugly.

Bluebottle froze as they looked at him, hoping irrationally that they wouldn’t be able to see him if he stayed completely still. He tried fruitlessly to keep his antennae from twitching. He didn’t want to get involved. He didn’t even dare back away from bout committee, in case Starscream took that as an insult and kicked him off his 'side.'

Fortunately, Starscream was too impatient to wait for Bluebottle to weigh in. He rounded on Thundercracker instead, holding his ID chit out like a weapon. "If you won't let me referee anyone whose coach has ever accused me of being an irredeemable backstabbing monster, then you might as well take this back and let me leave."

"I don't want you to leave," said Thundercracker. “Why can’t you act like an—"

"I bet you don't." Starscream sneered. "Who would you replace me with?"

"Tailgate said he could—"

"I guarantee the fencers will be happier with me than _Tailgate_ ," said Starscream.

"Just because he's Lost Light—"

"It doesn't have anything to do with that!" Starscream looked wounded. "He's an epee referee. He’s an epee _fencer_. He belongs with the epee people."

"Stop interrupting me," said Thundercracker. "Tailgate said he could help, if we wanted, because he's a nice mech. A nice mech with a very respectable sabre rating."

Starscream's optics flickered. "So nice. Give me the pool."

Thundercracker held out the datapad, but he didn't let go when Starscream tugged at it. "Promise me you'll play nice."

"I'm not playing."

" _Starscream_."

Starscream ground his teeth, and his wings twitched back. "I will be the nicest, most respectful referee you've ever seen," he spat, and yanked the datapad away.

Bluebottle picked up the other datapad as Starscream stormed off. “Should I keep an optic on Starscream during pools?”

“That’s not your job.” Thundercracker drummed his fingers against the table, watching Starscream’s back. “But comm me if you think anyone’s going to be murdered.”

\---

Bluebottle liked refereeing upper youth division. The fencers knew more or less what they were doing, but they were still in adolescent frames so Bluebottle was taller than every single one of them. It made him feel authoritative. Maybe that was why Ultra Magnus always had that aura of superiority. He was taller than practically everybody. He was taller than Primus.

The Metroplex fencer looked like a miniature cross between a seeker and an ATV. Bluebottle had no idea what her altmode would look like. She didn't really fence like any of Starscream's fencers, either. She liked to hold her blade low, like she was daring her opponent to hit her, and then make a rapid counterattack when they tried. Normally Metroplex fencers were all smooth powerful attacks and complicated strategy.

But you could still tell she belonged to Metroplex, because she _screeched_ like Starscream. She screamed with victory if she won a touch, and shouted her frustration if she lost it. Bluebottle's audials were still ringing from her last bout when he finished the pool and passed the datapad around for signatures.

Starscream’s pool was still going. Well, that wasn’t unusual—he’d taken the bigger pool. But it  
sure seemed Starscream was actually delayed because he was fighting with one of the youth fencers. A gawky racing frame who was somehow already taller than both Bluebottle and Starscream.

"It's attack in prep," insisted the fencer.

"You can't just stand there and expect to get the touch," said Starscream. "You’re waiting. Attack left. On guard."

"This is the third time you've—"

"On guard," said Starscream, tightly.

The fencer sullenly got on guard, and Bluebottle watched Starscream call ‘fence.’ Bluebottle could see immediately what the problem was. The racer would wait at the on guard line as his opponent started a clumsy attack, and then he’d counterattack quickly as his opponent just extended his arm. It was the ridiculously obvious version of what Starscream had corrected Bluebottle on earlier. A fast arm didn't mean anything if you were waiting on your opponent in the first place.

"Attack left," said Starscream, giving the point to the racer's opponent. "Again."

The racer ripped his visor off, and Bluebottle stared dialing Thundercracker’s comm. But the racer managed to control himself long enough to salute and shake hands. Bluebottle sighed in relief, and then sucked in his breath again when the racer walked up to Starscream and pointed a finger in Starscream's face.

"You gave away four of my touches," said the racer.

"Excuse me?" said Starscream.

"I would have won that bout if it wasn't for you."

Starscream's expression looked dangerous, and Bluebottle thought it was lucky that the racer was still in his youth frame. Or maybe it was unlucky, because Starscream was about to be locked up for sparkling murder.

Just let it go, thought Bluebottle, trying to project the words into Starscream's processor. Just let it go, it's not a big deal. It'll be fine. Just let it go.

“What’s your designation?” asked Starscream.

“It’s on the datapad,” said the kid. “Reagent.”

“Thank you.” Starscream pulled something from his subspace, and Bluebottle felt himself moving forward, ready to tackle Starscream before he could actually murder someone. But it was just a yellow penalty card.

"This is for an offense against sportsmanship.” Starscream’s voice was precise, clipped. "You can question the call without questioning my integrity. I’ll inform the bout committee about the card, and if you continue with this behavior you won’t be allowed to continue competing."

"Come on, you're just trying to cover your—"

"Metalhawk," said Starscream, still with the same controlled voice.

Metalhawk looked up from where he'd been carefully ignoring the confrontation.

"You see this card?" asked Starscream.

Metalhawk curled his lip. "I see you overreacting and penalizing an adolescent, when you should be—"

"I need you to take your fencer," said Starscream. "And I need you to explain to him how you talk to a referee. And then he can come back and sign the datapad. And the yellow card will be the end of it. I think that's what all of us want, don't you?"

"Uhh," said Reagent, and fortunately Metalhawk had the presence of mind to catch his arm and drag him away.

Starscream glared after them as he put the yellow card back. No one else was moving—none of the fencers seemed to know who should be on strip. Bluebottle cleared his voicebox.

"Do you want to doublestrip the last couple bouts?"

"Fine," said Starscream, still watching Metalhawk's back. "One and two, this strip. Four and seven, with Bluestreak."

“Bluebottle,” said Bluebottle, but he didn’t think Starscream heard him.

The bouts went quickly, leaving Bluebottle watching Starscream as Starscream waited impatiently for Metalhawk's fencer to come back and sign. Finally Reagent trudged over, looking downcast.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Good," said Starscream, and thank Primus, maybe they could leave it at that. But no: "Sorry for?" prompted Starscream, because he absolutely couldn't let anything go.

"I'm sorry I got mad," said Reagent. "Everybody makes mistakes—it's not your fault you didn't see the action correctly."

Starscream actually pulled the black card out of his subspace, but he looked at Metalhawk and his fingers tightened, crumpling the thin sheet of metal the card was stamped on.

"Bluebottle." Starscream didn’t look at Bluebottle, didn’t look away from the scrap metal in his hand. "Why don't you get the rest of these signatures? I need to go talk to Thundercracker."

Bluebottle had already sent Thundercracker five separate comms in the last five astrosconds, so he thought that was probably a good idea.

\---

Bluebottle tried his best not to hover at bout committee while Starscream and Thundercracker _discussed events_ , but the upshot of it was that Starscream now had a conflict with two fencers. Technically he had a conflict of interest with the Metroplex fencer and was being ‘set up for success’ by avoiding Reagent, but it all came to the same thing. Specifically, it came to Bluebottle refereeing most of the direct elimination bouts. Both the Metroplex and the NFC fencer had byes through the first round, but after that Bluebottle had them every time. 

In the very first touch of Reagent’s first bout, he waited for his opponent to start and then made a very fast counterattack. Bluebottle braced himself and called it against him. Reagent looked at him, and Bluebottle gave the explanation. "Waiting off the line. Attack from the right, counterattack from the left."

Reagent kept looking at him, and Bluebottle actually felt in his pocket for a yellow card for delay of bout, or even a black card if the kid decided to make a scene. But in the end, Reagent just shrugged and got back on guard.

Every touch after that, the kid started as soon as Bluebottle said fence, like he was releasing a spring. He'd either make a smooth attack, or a quick parry-riposte. He won fifteen to two.

If Reagent had just done that from the beginning, everyone’s lives would’ve been so much easier. Watching him fence well made Bluebottle feel old, resentful, and tired. He wondered if Thundercracker felt like this all the time.

The Metroplex fencer's bout was pretty easy too, except Bluebottle caught himself wishing he could tune down his audials. If only he'd ever taken a class on sound mixing, or just got one of those fancy sound dampening mods construction mechs liked to use. The kid was piercing, and if Bluebottle could just filter out that frequency, either his refereeing or his quality of life would increase exponentially.

The round after that, Bluebottle had to do _both_ of the semi-finals, because the NFC and Metroplex fencers were on opposite sides of the bracket. Starscream was basically done refereeing, so he just watched, talons tapping against his chin as he leaned back in his chair.

Bluebottle felt good about himself. He was making clean calls, and no one was yelling—not Metalhawk, and definitely not Starscream, who wasn't allowed to coach even if he was technically done refereeing for the day. The NFC and Metroplex fencers won their bouts, so Bluebottle was going to do the final.

"Any advice?" Bluebottle asked Starscream.

Starscream looked at Bluebottle, and his optics flickered again as he looked away. "Let's talk afterward. You seem more confident. I don't want to throw you off your rhythm."

"Okay,” said Bluebottle uncertainly, and then he caught himself and said it decisively instead. “Okay, great, looking forward to it."

Starscream nodded absently, his optics caught on the Metroplex fencer. "Dramawing, come here a moment."

"Hi Maestro," chirped the fencer. "It's Stageflight, actually. What's up?"

"Oh, I just wanted to ask how you're liking Vos." Starscream’s voice was light, and he smiled at Stageflight. He’d taken off his ID chit, at some point. "I grew up here, you know. Why don't we just go over to the finals strip and you can tell me about your favorite places?"

Bluebottle was pretty sure this wasn't okay. But Starscream _was_ done refereeing, and he wasn't skulking around. Everyone could see that he was talking to Stageflight. And Reagent had Metalhawk, and Wheeljack wasn't here so Stageflight didn't _have_ a coach, and Starscream was on Bluebottle's side today—

Bluebottle cut himself off. If he was working that hard to justify Starscream, he should definitely go stop this. Or comm Thundercracker.

Maybe Thundercracker would notice and intervene without Bluebottle having to do anything. Bluebottle walked over to the referee corral and got a few chocolate wheel nuts. If he couldn’t see what Starscream was doing, he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. It wasn’t that big a deal, anyway.

\---

Now that Starscream was definitely done refereeing this event, Tailgate was video referee for the final. It felt weird to think that Bluebottle would rather have Starscream behind him, but that didn’t make it any less true. Tailgate really was more of an epee mech. Bluebottle was the better sabre referee ( _weird_ ), and it would be up to Bluebottle to make the right call. He was going in alone. It would be fine. 

Even with Starscream _and_ Thundercracker in the stands, and Metalhawk shouting at the edge of the strip, and pretty much everyone in the gym waiting for Bluebottle to make a mistake so they could watch him be torn apart. It would be fine.

It wasn't fine.

Every single action was in the middle, and Bluebottle felt like he was slowly losing his grip on reality. Reagent had long ago given up making that terrible late attack happen, and Stageflight had dropped the counterattacks and was focused on making a simple attack. Bluebottle kept trying to find a reason _not_ to call every touch simultaneous, and there weren’t any, unless his processor was burning out on him, and he wanted to go back to video but that would be showing weakness. He couldn’t show weakness in front of this crowd. He called simultaneous again.

Finally Bluebottle caught Stageflight's acceleration out of the corner of his eye, and latched on to it gratefully. "Attack left."

Metalhawk made a face and Reagent looked frustrated, but neither asked for video. Bluebottle stood a little straighter and called the fencers on guard.

After that touch it felt like Stageflight had the initiative on every action—either initiating the attack or catching Reagent’s blade in a parry-riposte. She got caught a few times when Reagent just did a fast advance-lunge off the line, but otherwise she'd completely taken over the bout.

"Come on," said Metalhawk, after Bluebottle called another attack for Stageflight. "You're letting her have two for one."

"I'm sorry," said Bluebottle. "I don't know what you're talking about. Do you want video?" But Metalhawk waved him off.

The next touch was simultaneous, and Metalhawk snarled "there! Video!", and Reagent made the video sign.

Bluebottle went back to look, and Tailgate slowed the video down for him.

"I don't know what they want here," said Bluebottle. "It really looks simultaneous."

Tailgate shrugged. "Stick with the call. Maybe Metalhawk just wanted to break up the rhythm and get his fencer back on track."

If that had been Metalhawk's goal, he didn't achieve much with it. Stageflight got the next touch with a parry-riposte, and that was the break.

Bluebottle glanced back at the stands, but Starscream didn't get up and try to coach. He just gave Stageflight a thumb’s up, while she grinned at him and sipped her coolant. Meanwhile, Metalhawk was actually arguing with his fencer, trying to get Reagent to change something before he lost.

Metalhawk obviously didn’t succeed. After the break it was just more of the same, and Stageflight won the bout fifteen to seven. At the last touch, she screamed so loudly that one of the lighting clusters burst, spattering the stands with luminous gel.

Stageflight shook Bluebottle's hand while his audials were still rebooting, and then flung herself at her guardians, grin splitting her face as her guardians tried to dodge a sabre to the head. Her tall seeker guardian looked proud, and her stocky ATV guardian looked like she was trying very hard not to complain about the gel stuck to her wheels.

Reagent came over to shake hands too. "Thanks for refereeing," he said. "You're a lot better than the other guy."

Without really thinking about it, Bluebottle tightened his grip on the kid's hand and pulled him in. "You're extremely lucky Starscream didn't kick your aft out of this tournament." 

Reagent tried and failed to pull away. "You didn't see what he was calling in that pool—"

"It's not about the calls," said Bluebottle, "it's about respect. Also, the calls were completely right, you need to stop waiting off the line." 

He let Reagent go, and tried not to be too pleased when the kid winced and stretched his fingers.

Tailgate shook Bluebottle's hand too, beaming. "Nicely done."

"Oh, thanks! You thought the bout was good?"

"The bout was also good," said Tailgate, sparing a dirty look for Reagent’s retreating back. "Really consistent calls."

"Yeah." Thundercracker's hand landed on Bluebottle's shoulder. "It was very consistent."

Bluebottle's spark sank. Starscream was already huddled over the computer, flicking through the videos.

"This is about the two for one thing," said Bluebottle.

"Stageflight was fooling you." Starscream slowed down the replay. “Consistently.”

It was obvious when Bluebottle knew what he was looking for. Both fencers stepped forward when Bluebottle called fence, but then Stageflight took a little hopping hesitating step before finishing with a quick lunge. Reagent continued with his attack, which only looked slow because he was actually working to move forward instead of just dancing in place.

"That should be attack right," said Bluebottle.

"But you called it left," said Starscream. "Or a couple times simultaneous." He flipped forward a few more touches.

Stageflight made the hopping step again, but this time she used the extra time it gave her to see Reagent’s developing attack and parry it.

"Two for one," said Thundercracker. "If Reagent holds his attack, she can make a fast counterattack and hopefully get it called in her favor. And if he tries to push the attack, she can just parry it. She doesn't have to decide until Reagent makes an action. Remember, Bluebottle, sabre's all about commitment."

"I thought I _was_ calling the commitment." Bluebottle’s antennae drooped. This was what Starscream had been talking about during the last event. Bluebottle was still favoring a fast hand over a slow attack.

"Hey, there's always more to learn," said Thundercracker. "You did call it very consistently. It's the fencer's fault for not wising up, and Metalhawk's fault for not telling him better. And for calling video on exactly the wrong touch."

Starscream flipped to that touch.

"It still looks simultaneous." Bluebottle knew he sounded sullen, but he couldn’t help it. He’d thought the bout had gone _well_.

"It is simultaneous," said Starscream. "I don't know what he was thinking. If he called for video on almost any other touch, you would've seen the problem."

Bluebottle flicked a glance at Tailgate, who was looking at the screen like it held the indecipherable secrets of the universe.

“You would have seen it,” insisted Starscream. “You saw it right away when I slowed the video down, didn’t you?”

“I should have seen it live,” said Bluebottle.

"You’ll see it next time," said Thundercracker. "And until you do, it’s the fencer’s job to adjust. I mean, any coach could have seen what you were calling and told their fencer how to take advantage of it."

Starscream's wings tightened against his shoulders, and he stared very intently at the video replay.

"Wait," said Bluebottle. "Is that—You didn't want to tell me what I was doing wrong until after the bout."

Starscream winced. "I already told you about this. You weren't going to fix it in a few kliks."

"But you told Stageflight what to do," said Bluebottle. "You told her how to take advantage of me."

"Starscream," said Thundercracker, "were you _coaching_?"

"I just gave Stageflight a tip, one tip." Starscream spread his hands. "And not during the bout! You saw me, I was sitting with you the whole time."

Bluebottle turned to Thundercracker, expecting him to scold Starscream, or punish him, or even give him a card. But Thundercracker just looked amused. Like this was a joke. Like he wouldn’t have done anything even if Bluebottle had swallowed his doubts and told Thundercracker when Starscream had first taken Stageflight aside. Like it didn’t _matter_.

Bluebottle thought of about thirty things to say, but none of them wanted to come out. He whirled and stalked off to the referee corral instead.

When Starscream caught up with him, Bluebottle had already stuffed half a dozen chocolate wheel nuts into his mouth and was having trouble chewing.

"I wasn't even really refereeing anymore," said Starscream, and "it wouldn't have even worked if Metalhawk wasn't a complete afthead," and "you're _supposed_ to adjust to the referee, it's not—"

"Ahfguhmuhsd," said Bluebottle angrily, and then forced himself to swallow. "I thought you were on my side! Just for today!"

Starscream shifted uncomfortably. Good. He _should_ feel uncomfortable. Bluebottle ate another wheel nut while he waited for Starscream to come up with an answer.

“I am on your side,” said Starscream, looking at the table between them. Someone had spilled energon on it, just a few drops. “But Metroplex is my club, and—"

"That's not how it works!" Bluebottle groaned, seizing his antennae with sticky fingers. "What happened to what you were saying earlier? How bad it was back in the day, how we should be better instead of being nostalgic?"

"Come on." Starscream tried for a smirk. "This isn’t that bad. Not anywhere near what Prowl used to do."

"I don't care what Prowl used to do! I trusted _you_."

Starscream's optics widened, and his mouth worked. "Well," he said at last, "I guess I can tell you your first mistake."

Bluebottle didn’t punch him, because he was better than that. Better than he should be, probably. Certainly better than Thundercracker expected.

But he did walk out without saying another word, because even he had limits. He was done for the day anyway.

\---

"Hey, nerds!" Skywarp plopped a pitcher of virulently green high grade on the table. "How was your day?"

"What the pit is that supposed to be?" asked Starscream.

"Looks nice, huh?" Skywarp shook the pitcher invitingly. "I asked the bartender for their five cheapest high grades in one, easy to carry form. They made me sign a waiver!”

Starscream recoiled, because he was a coward. "Shouldn't you be able to afford a better class of booze now that you have a real job?"

"Oh, I can _afford_ better." Skywarp poured cubes for the three of them, and insistently pushed Starscream’s cube back to him when Starscream tried to shove it away. "Now drink up and tell me about your day."

Starscream looked at Thundercracker, then looked back down at his (now lightly smoking) cube. His optics flickered. "It was fine."

"Aw, baby, what happened?" crooned Skywarp.

"Starscream disappointed his new protege," said Thundercracker.

"Bluebottle's _your_ protege," said Starscream.

"But you remember his name now," said Thundercracker. "We'll call it halfsies."

"Then you get half the disappointment," said Starscream. "You're the one who hired me. _And_ you haven't punished me for my horrible transgressions against the sport."

"Transgressions?" asked Skywarp. "More of them? Did you throw a table at someone this time?"

"I didn't throw anything," said Starscream, and made the mistake of sipping from a cube to cover his embarrassment. His face was priceless, and Skywarp took great pleasure in pounding him right between the wings to 'help' him choke it down.

"Starscream was coaching while he was supposed to be refereeing," said Thundercracker.

"I was technically done refereeing," said Starscream hoarsely. "And I only gave Stageflight one tiny piece of advice."

"Which won her the bout."

"It's not my fault I'm so good at giving advice!"

"That's _it_?" asked Skywarp. He stroked Starscream’s wing for half a klik, until Starscream realized he was doing it and pushed him away.

"It’s not like when we were fencing." Thundercracker reached out to steady the pitcher as Starscream jostled it, which was good because Skywarp was pretty sure this stuff would eat through the table if spilled. "Referees are supposed to have ethics now. The new ones even have ideals."

"Let's talk about something else," said Starscream. "Skywarp doesn't care about fencing."

Skywarp fell back in his chair, his hands pressed to his spark. "Starscream, are you accusing me of having _other interests_?"

"You must have quit for some reason," said Starscream.

"Yeah, the busted knee joint." Skywarp sighed. "All right, all right. Why don't we talk about... you?"

"No," said Starscream.

"Aw come on, you love talking about yourself," said Skywarp. "Where'd you get your paint done? I love what you've done with your optics, really hides the nanite decay. Is that what the kids are doing nowadays instead of recharging?"

"Frag off," growled Starscream. 

Thundercracker leaned over the round table from Starscream’s other side and spoke in a loud whisper, faux-conspiratorial. "I think he's gnawing on his fingers again. Did you see the retouching?"

Starscream tucked his hands under his thighs. “It’s not a crime to look nice.”

Skywarp looked at him. Starscream’s optics flickered _again_ , which was either under-fueling or processor damage or both, and Skywarp felt guiltily glad that he’d screwed up his knee and quit the club before Megatron ever left. That he hadn’t been in as deep as Starscream or even Thundercracker. That his optics didn’t flicker when he was stressed.

"You kind of look like a mess," said Skywarp. "No offense. Except the wings, your wings look great."

“Your wing fetish is weird,” said Starscream.

“It’s natural,” said Skywarp, reaching for Starscream’s wingtip and not feeling even a tiny bit offended when Starscream pulled it out of reach. “I’m a seeker, I’m supposed to love wings. You only think it’s weird because all of your turn-ons are centered on sabre handling. If you know what I mean.” He gave Starscream a theatrical wink, and was rewarded with Starscream looking utterly disgusted.

Thundercracker watched them, smiling faintly and running his finger over the rim of his cube. “You do look better, Starscream.”

“I wish people would stop saying that.” Starscream looked briefly uncomfortable, or pleased, and then he took a sip of his high grade and any expression was disguised by the coughing.

Skywarp took the opportunity to pat Starscream’s wings again. "What did he look like last time?"

"Like he'd been punched with a sabre guard,” said Thundercracker. “Two or three times. Without a visor.”

“Hey, maybe he was,” said Skywarp. “Were his optics doing that thing last time? Or is that new?”

“What thing?” Starscream actually tapped one of his optics, like that was going to do anything except sting.

Thundercracker looked at Starscream, considering. "Megatron said he'd been letting Wheeljack tamper with his processor."

"You've been talking with Megatron?" said Starscream.

"You've been letting Wheeljack frag around in your _head_?" demanded Skywarp. "Are you trying to get yourself exploded?"

"It's fine." Starscream knocked back the rest of his cube. “I’m—frag—fine. Tell me about your stupid job.”

All right, Skywarp knew when to drop a subject. For about five breem, until Starscream had been persuaded to drink two further cubes of high grade, complaining and sputtering all the way.

A drunk Starscream was a talkative Starscream.

"Wheeljack wrote the program for me." Starscream waved a shaky hand. "Just so I could recharge. But I made a few improvements, and I thought that maybe I could at least make planetary tournaments _bearable_."

"This is the most Starscream plan ever," said Skywarp.

"Brilliant in its simplicity?" mumbled Starscream.

"Uhh, no," said Skywarp. "More like, why cope with anything when you can ignore it instead?"

"Don't talk to me about coping," said Starscream. "You quit. You both quit. You quit and left me all alone."

Skywarp had to cough down a cube of his own, so he wouldn't punch Starscream. Or try to hug him.

When he resurfaced, Starscream was half-lying on the table, drawing designs in the condensation left by the chilled high grade. "You should come back. You don't need knees to coach."

"You couldn't pay me a third of what I make in navigation," said Skywarp. "I get gazillions of credits."

"At least Thundercracker referees," Starscream told the table. "He's the only one who likes me."

"Wheeljack likes you," said Thundercracker.

"Wheeljack doesn't count," said Starscream. "I pay him to like me."

"There aren't enough credits on Cybertron," said Skywarp.

"I _do_ ," insisted Starscream, and then, unexpectedly, beamed. "I tricked him into it. My most successful plot."

"Bluebottle likes you," said Thundercracker.

"Who?" asked Skywarp.

"No, he doesn't." Starscream's face fell. "He did, but then I betrayed him."

"It's good for him," said Thundercracker, gently. "It's a learning experience."

Skywarp got the feeling that Thundercracker was still _sober_ , so he pushed cubes of energon at Thundercracker until he finally relented and drank one.

Thundercracker didn’t even hiccup. The universe was a cruel and unfair place.

Starscream turned in his chair until his wings were just in range of Skywarp’s hands. Skywarp looked at them, trying to decide if he’d drunk enough to start hallucinating, but there they were. Twitching invitingly. Skywarp cautiously reached out to stroke one, and his hand didn’t get bitten off. Starscream didn’t even start shrieking. Just shivered a little, and pressed back into Skywarp’s touch.

Slag, this stuff must be _strong_. Skywarp scooted his chair a little closer and used both hands.

"How often do you talk to Megatron about me?" Starscream asked Thundercracker.

Thundercracker paused in trying to claw the aftertaste of the high grade off his tongue. "We don't just talk about you. We... chat. He's not the same mech he used to be."

"I know," said Starscream. "It's _awful_."

Primus, Skywarp didn’t want to listen to this. He’d never even liked Megatron. The mech just ran a good club with some fun people to fence. If all the time wasted talking about Megatron had been used for fencing, they would have been the greatest fencers of all time.

But it was a waste of time trying to tell that to Starscream. Skywarp reluctantly pried himself away from Starscream’s wings and went to get another pitcher. The mix of high grades turned out bright Decepticon purple this time, and Skywarp scowled at it and got the bartender to add three more bottles to the mix, until the mixture was an unappetizing brown. 

When Skywarp got back, Starscream had levered himself off the table and was talking insistently at Thundercracker. His wings were canted up, out of Skywarp’s easy reach.

"—Kept rambling about the 'good old days.'" Starscream's fingers sketched haphazard quotation marks in the air. "Like we should miss it."

"What a dick," said Skywarp. "Who are we talking about?"

“Ultra Magnus,” said Thundercracker.

“What a _dick_ ,” repeated Skywarp. “Who wants round two?”

"But I do miss it," whined Starscream, stuck on the subject like a tentacle on glass. "The good parts. Not the rest. A little bit the rest."

"Ooh, I have a suggestion," said Thundercracker.

"No," said Starscream.

"You should fence in the veteran's—"

Starscream dumped the dregs of the old pitcher into Thundercracker's lap. Good thing Skywarp had already got the new one. But then he had to go get something more alkaline, because the high grade actually was eating away Thundercracker’s armor. Even that wasn’t a total loss, because they only used about half the alkaline pitcher on Thundercracker’s armor, leaving them with _two_ pitchers of high grade which Skywarp could use to stop thinking about Megatron and spend his time more productively by coaxing Thundercracker into having another drink and by luring Starscream into his lap. 

It wasn’t really that kind of bar, but Skywarp was shipping out again in a couple orn and he didn’t care what these people thought about him. And the high grade was starting to hit Starscream hard, dumbaft probably hadn’t fueled properly in a cyber-week, and when Starscream got plastered he had a hard time remembering that other people existed, let alone that they might judge him for sitting on his favorite ex-trinemate.

Finally Thundercracker looked pleasantly buzzed, Starscream’s cheek was pressed to Skywarp’s cockpit, and Skywarp kind of felt like things were alright, alright in a way they’d only ever been when they were young and winning tournaments.

Of course, Thundercracker had to ruin it.

“We still have to referee tomorrow,” he said muzzily. “In, slag, in five groon.”

Starscream groaned into Skywarp’s chest. Skywarp stroked his wings, trying to settle him, but Starscream kept moving, trying to get up.

“Aw, don’t do that,” murmured Skywarp. “Just blow it off.”

“Can’t,” said Thundercracker. “I’m running the fragging thing.” He tried and failed to focus a glare at Starscream. “And if I have to suffer, Starscream has to suffer with me.”

“Fine,” said Skywarp. “But stay a few more kliks, okay? For me? I’ll take you home after, it’ll be faster than waiting for a transport.”

“I can _fly_ ,” said Starscream.

“Not right now, you can’t,” said Skywarp. “Come on, sit down.”

Starscream hesitated, then slumped back into Skywarp’s lap. Thundercracker looked at them, and poured himself another cube.

“I commed Wheeljack about your optics,” Thundercracker told Starscream. “He said he’d take a look when you get back to Metroplex. And Bluebottle asked me if he can referee epee tomorrow, and I told him to suck it up, I need him in sabre.”

Starscream grunted, then squirmed sideways so his back was to Thundercracker, his helm leaning against Skywarp’s shoulder. Thundercracker watched, that sweet smile beginning to spread over his face.

“You know, Skywarp, you’re the reason Starscream agreed to come,” he said. “I kept asking and asking, and then I just mentioned that you’d be in Vos at the same time as the tournament and all of a sudden Starscream was sending me his shuttle reservations.”

“Is that so?” Skywarp bounced his leg, jiggling Starscream a little. “Did you miss me, Screamer?”

“No,” mumbled Starscream. His optics were unlit, and his fans sounded like they were winding down. Skywarp’s spark itched uncomfortably.

“I don’t think you do,” he said. “Miss me, I mean. I don’t think you really miss the old days either. I think you miss being—frag, I don’t know. Being _known_ , I guess. Whatever you think that means.”

“Deep,” said Thundercracker.

“Come on, you know what I’m trying to say,” said Skywarp. “But Starscream, listen to me, you got a chance here. You can find better people than some slagger like Megatron, or a geek like Thundercracker, or even a handsome mech like me who only likes you for your frame.”

“Soundwave,” mumbled Starscream.

“Soundwave? Soundwave?” Skywarp almost took another drink in his outrage, before he remembered he was supposed to be sobering up enough to teleport. “Soundwave couldn’t _stand_ you, what do you mean—”

Starscream snuffled and hid his face against Skywarp’s cockpit. Thundercracker was looking at them again with that stupid fragging smile, like _he’d_ missed this too. Even though he should know better.

“Frag off,” said Skywarp.

Thundercracker kept smiling. “Only for his frame, huh?”

“Whatever, he’s recharging, he doesn’t care.” Skywarp got one arm under Starscream’s legs and the other behind his back and heaved himself up. He wobbled a bit and the room tried to spin, but he didn’t drop Starscream and his knee only hurt like the pit and not like it was being torn off, so he was calling it a success. “TC, finish your drink, I’m taking us home.”

“You mean to the hotel.” Thundercracker stood up, and Skywarp was gratified to see that he was moving slow and careful, like he might tip into a wall if he turned his head wrong.

“I know what I said.” Skywarp called up the coordinates for his apartment, the big one with the nice view that he slept in maybe once every other orbital cycle. “Come on, I got a huge berth and I wasted all night with you two instead of picking up hotties.”

Thundercracker gave Skywarp a look. Alright, maybe Starscream wasn’t the only one who missed the bad old days. Maybe some nights Skywarp couldn’t get his processor to turn off, and he’d think back to when he hadn’t had enough credits to afford his own place, couldn’t even afford his own berth, and he’d recharge in a big pile of wings and overheated engines, while Thundercracker watched competition videos on his datapad and Starscream did footwork in his sleep. And he’d think about what he would’ve done if he’d never hurt his slagging knee…

“Come on,” said Skywarp. “You can go back to reality in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Thundercracker put his arm around Skywarp’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure. If you say so.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can also [reblog and share it on tumblr](http://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/176972437989/coup%C3%A9-neveralarch-the-transformers-idw). Also, if you're reading this series, I would treasure your comment (even if it's just to say 'hey, I'm reading this'). I really appreciate those of you who are following me down this rabbit hole.


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